


A Heart's Gift

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: BixFreed [27]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Established Relationship, Gift Giving, Love, M/M, Minor Injuries, Promises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24025894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Freed was up to something.That wasn’t saying much really, because the Thief was always up to something, even when he was home and not getting into trouble across the country, he was planning his next heist. It was a sight to see really because Freed’s expression always came alive at that moment, eyes bright, barely able to hold himself still. Bickslow had learned to love those moments, to delight in watching him, even though he knew it meant that it was inevitable that Freed was going away again.This was different.
Relationships: Bickslow/Freed Justine
Series: BixFreed [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1188712
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: Fairy Tail Rare Pairs Week 2020





	A Heart's Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that if you want to talk to me about my fics and writing, or anime/shows/games in general then you can now find me on discord [The Unholy Trinity](https://discord.gg/6sSddAWa5c).

Freed was up to something.

That wasn’t saying much really, because the Thief was always up to something, even when he was home and not getting into trouble across the country, he was planning his next heist. It was a sight to see really because Freed’s expression always came alive at that moment, eyes bright, barely able to hold himself still. Bickslow had learned to love those moments, to delight in watching him, even though he knew it meant that it was inevitable that Freed was going away again.

This was different.

Things had settled since then. In the wake of Freed’s disappearance, and Bickslow’s subsequent illness, they had finally settled down, curled together in the bed they had made theirs and talked through everyone. It had been raw and messy. Freed had spent too long on his own, unable to trust many people, and he was guilty – about involving Bickslow, about trying to leave him behind to keep him safe and a dozen other things that only he really understood. Whereas, Bickslow had still been recovering, still haunted by what his fevered mind had shown him, and his own guilt over having to rely so much on Freed for protection. The conversation had lasted most of the night, and well into the next day. There had been raised voices, soft whispers, tears and gentle touches. Hurt and Anger, Love and Understanding. It had hurt and healed in equal measure, and they had emerged closer than ever and determined to move forward together.

It hadn’t been that smooth, of course. Freed had nearly fled when the guards had come to question Bickslow again, flight almost turning to fight, when one had struck Bickslow, but he had held himself in place. Remembering Bickslow asking him to let him handle some of that weight, to let him protect Freed in his own way. It had been hard, especially when they had left and he had silently pressed a cold cloth to the bruise forming at the corner of his partner’s mouth, but the smile and kiss that had followed, and the spark in Bickslow’s eyes had made it worthwhile. Just as Bickslow had struggled to voice the fact that he wasn’t ready for Freed to go anywhere when the Thief had first become antsy to get back into the fray. Finally drawing the other man close and asking him not to go just yet, waiting for the denial, only to melt into Freed’s arms when Freed had kissed him and pulled him close and promised that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Even when they had settled back into a routine, Freed was rarely gone more than a few days, always telling Bickslow when he should be back and roughly where he was going – a compromise, when Bickslow had asked to know more. And Bickslow had promised to eat and sleep properly when Freed was gone, aided by the fact that Freed had finally left him the contact details for Evergreen – an old friend who was usually where Freed went when things got too risky for him to come home. _Home._ Neither of them had forgotten that word, or the emotions that it held, and Bickslow had made it official by giving Freed a key – something that the Thief had always refused before, as there was nothing that could keep him out. Now he wore it proudly around his neck on a light chain, and even when he was planning his next adventure, his fingers would be wrapped around it, a reminder that he had somewhere and someone to come back to.

So, yes, Bickslow knew that Freed plotted. Just as he knew that this wasn’t that because usually Freed liked to be close when he was planned, either curled with him on the bed or sofa or sprawled on the floor of the workshop, keeping Bickslow company as he worked. But, for the last couple of days, he would spend at least three hours a day in a different room working on something that would disappear the moment that Bickslow entered the room, and no amount of questions, had been enough to get even so much as a hint about what he was up to. Just a quick kiss and a smile, and an easy promise that it wasn’t anything bad.

*

The first clue came two days later when he was in the kitchen making a drink and trying to peek into the living room where Freed was working on whatever he was up to. He hadn’t managed to see anything, Freed carefully curled over his project, back to the door, and he had been about to admit defeat and retreat to his own work when there was a curse from the living room, followed by a hiss that he knew all too well.

Freed was in pain.

“Freed!” He managed not to knock his drink over as he darted into the living room, where Freed was hunched over, gripping his left hand tightly. Whatever he had had been working on had disappeared, but there was a knife – one of the ones from his workshop lying on the floor, bloody, and he spared it little more than a second glance before reaching his partner and crouching down in front of him. “Let me see.” He ordered, trying not to feel too pleased when there was no hesitation as the Thief held out his hand, letting Bickslow see the cut he had managed to give himself. It stretched across his palm, not too deep, but steadily oozing blood. It wasn’t clean, and his eyebrows rose as he recognised the familiar splinters around it, the dirt that came from working with wood, and filed it away, as he focused on Freed, noticing the narrowing of the eyes that betrayed the pain he was on and the embarrassed flush. “Come on, we need to clean this and bandage it.”

Freed was pliant and obedient as he was guided into the bathroom and made to sit on the toilet as Bickslow fished around in the cupboard amongst the growing stock of medical supplies. Before he had kept the bare minimum in the house, enough for any accidents he might have in the workshop, but Freed had changed that. He had changed many things, Bickslow thought, finding what he needed and getting to work, wondering if he would be able to pass for a proper medic by the time all this was done. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re up to now?” He asked as he cleaned out the cut, earning a hiss from Freed although he made no effort to pull his hand back.

“No…” Freed muttered, squirming as Bickslow looked at him. “It’s nothing bad,” he added eventually, remembering their promise to avoid keeping secrets unless absolutely necessary. “It’s just a surprise, a gift…” The last word was said so quietly that only the fact that he was leaning in close, now using tweezers to retrieve a particularly stubborn splinter that let Bickslow catch it. _A gift?_ He mulled it over as he worked, wondering at the softly, sheepish tone. _What are you making…?_ He trailed off, remembering the conversation from months ago when Freed had quietly said that he wished he could make things like Bickslow could, and ducked his head to hide the small smile, waiting until he got his expression under control before looking up and meeting his gaze.

“All right, I will let you keep your secret,” he said, keeping his voice light and teasing, knowing that he had said the right thing when Freed offered him a smile, one that reached his eyes and made them dance before he jerked and hissed when he caught the cut. “Sorry,” he murmured, kissing one of the twitching fingers in apology before getting back to work. “You’re lucky this wasn’t deeper,” he commented, hesitating for a moment. He had a good idea of what had happened, remembering when he had done the same when he was first working with wood, and watching Freed wince again, he decided that it was worth it. “Work with the grain of the wood, it’ll make it a lot easier and stop more injuries like this.” Freed had tensed at his words, and there was a pause before he nodded.

“I’ll remember that.”

That had been all that they’d said on the matter. Bickslow had patched Freed up, and then let him slip away again. He would have been lying if he’d said that he wasn’t being eaten alive with curiosity about what his partner was up to, but it was clearly important to Freed, so he pushed it down and told himself that it would be worth the wait.

*

The next week, Freed didn’t venture away apart from a brief trip to sell some of the stash beneath the hatch – or at least that was what he claimed, but there was something about the way he had snuck back in that made Bickslow think this had something to do with the ‘gift’ too. He managed not to ask. It was harder to hold back his questions, as Freed quietly, steadily added to the cuts on his hands. Most of them were small nicks, a handful needed plasters, and thankfully none of them was deep as the first one. Whatever else he was, something that Bickslow knew would take a lifetime to discover, Freed was no Carpenter. Bizarrely that made him feel better, and he was gentle each evening as he pressed a kiss to each cut, checking each new one, memorising it without question.

This continued into the middle of the next week, and Bickslow was almost at the point of breaking his quiet whenever he got a glimpse at Freed’s hands. He hadn’t heard anything from Freed since they’d eaten breakfast. His partner disappearing into the living room, practically vibrating with excitement about something and Bickslow had let him go with nothing more than a quiet warning to watch his fingers, before heading off to do his own work. They might be able to live more than comfortably off Freed’s ill-gotten gains, but that didn’t mean he wanted to, besides it was relaxing to lose himself in something safe and familiar, to focus on the grain of the wood and the shape he was chasing.

About mid-afternoon there was a knock on the door, pulling him out of the intricate carvings he was adding to the edge of a cot he had been working on for a couple of weeks. Blinking, he turned to find Freed leaning on the door frame and watching him with fond eyes, that belied his stern expression. “You forgot lunch,” Freed told him, and Bickslow winced. He had always been terrible about that, but it was something that Freed was most insistent on, something to do with his childhood he’d said when asked, but he hadn’t gone into detail, and the way his expression had shuttered had told Bickslow not to push back then.

“Sorry, I was distracted,” he said, gesturing at the cot, already pushing himself upright and moving towards the doorway. Freed greeted him with a smile and a kiss, before seizing his hand and pulling him out of the room. Too enthusiastic for it to just be about food, although the kitchen table was set with food when he was led into it a moment later, the mess on the sides telling him that Freed had finished a while ago and had let him get away with working too late.

Bickslow was about to ask what was going on when he spotted it, and he stilled. Freed’s hand tightened briefly around his, before he let go and stepped back, suddenly tense and flushed, not really looking at him. Bickslow glanced at him before stepping forward and reaching out, catching the sharp intake of breath from his partner, seconds before his brushed carefully carved wood.

It was a heart.

Only it was more than. It had been carefully, lovingly carved and smoothed, hours of work contained in something that was just a little larger than his hand. It was decorated, roughly so and it took Bickslow a few minutes, to realise that Freed had painstakingly, clumsily, carved images of his dolls and tools into the surface. A tribute to his work. It was only when he turned it over that he noticed the crack that ran around it, too steady to be anything but deliberate, and as he turned it again, he saw the delicate hinges. His fingers were creeping towards it when Freed finally regained his voice and ability to move, darting forward, hands closing over Bickslow’s. “Don’t!”

“Freed?”

Freed took a deep breath, squeezing lightly, before letting go just as Bickslow realised he was trembling. “This,” Freed tapped the wooden heart. “Is a promise that I will always come back.”

“Your heart…?”

“Yes,” Freed whispered, looking down. Bickslow closed the distance between them, cradling the heart in one hand, before reaching out to tilt Freed’s head up so that their eyes met.

“Thank you,” he told him, trying to pour everything he could into those two words. Trying to sum up the warmth in his chest, the stinging in his eyes, the feeling that he was holding something far more precious than the treasure buried under the hatch in his workroom. Freed seemed to understand, the tension bleeding away, smiling with colour still in his cheeks, as he leaned up and kissed him.

“That is a promise for now,” Freed said, when they parted, still wonderfully close. “What’s inside, is a promise for the future, for if something happens to me…” He trailed off a little at the end, fading to silence and squirming under Bickslow’s gaze. It was something they had carefully avoided about, something they both knew was there, but chose to ignore for now. Content to live in the present, with what they had now. “I…it shouldn’t be opened until then.” Bickslow started at that, and looked down at the heart, realising that this gift meant more than he had thought. It wasn’t just a promise, a physical representation of the heart that Freed had given him long ago, it was trust. Freed was trusting him to protect his heart, to keep this close and safe, and not to look inside until it was time. That realisation took his breath away, knowing what it must be costing the Thief to give him that much, and his fingers closed on the heart, and he lifted it, pressing it to his chest.

“I promise.”

_To keep it, to cherish it…and not to look until it’s time._

_To pray that it will never be time…_


End file.
